


Watching Dodger

by rpfwriters



Category: American (US) Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, RPF - Fandom, Real Person Fiction
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, Fluff, Gen, Light Angst, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive, reader - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:26:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rpfwriters/pseuds/rpfwriters
Summary: Chris Evans hires you as his dog watcher.





	Watching Dodger

“It’s super last minute,” you huffed. It didn’t matter that the man who had called and asked for a dog sitter was Chris Evans, the actor for whom you had had a crush on for the last handful of years, he was still putting you in a bind.

“I know,” Chris agreed. “And I know you probably already have other gigs, but… Bobby said you’re the best.”

You rolled your eyes at that. Ever since you had let it slip to Robert Downey Jr. that you had a crush on his co-star, the man had been relentless in his efforts to get the two of you to meet. Up until now, he had been leaving the ball in your court; dropping hints about where the two of them would be on certain days, writing down Chris’ phone number and ‘accidentally’ leaving it somewhere out in the open. Would you have liked to have snagged the number and called him? Hell yeah, but that wasn’t your MO. Some people called you old fashioned, but you liked the way it felt when a guy did all the grunt work.

“I’ll pay you double,” Chris was quick to add when you didn’t say anything.

Well, that piqued your interest. “When do you want me there?”

* * *

Dodger was yipping happily as he rolled around in the grass. You had just thrown the tennis ball for what felt like the hundredth time, which, let’s face it, it probably was. Tugging the phone from your pocket, you turned on the camera and started filming to show Chris when he got done filming for the day; whenever that might be.

Chris had been working late - not getting back to the trailer until almost two in the morning - for the last couple of weeks. During that time, Dodger had turned his attention to you; falling asleep at your side, at your feet, or curled against your stomach as you yourself had fallen asleep while waiting for his master.

“He misses you, Chris,” you murmured while holding back a laugh. Once Dodger was done rolling around, he stood up, ball in his mouth, tail wagging, you stopped recording and sent the video to Chris.

“Come on, boy,” you called, unable to keep from smiling as he ran over and dropped the ball into your open hand. He sat down, his tongue flopping out of his mouth as he grinned at you, his tail swishing back and forth in the grass, watching as you tossed the ball back and forth between your hands.

You were just about to throw it when Dodger tore off with a bark. You called after him as you spun around, worried that he might go into the busy street and get hit by a car, but the sight before you eased your fear. Chris was on his back and Dodger was on top of him, licking his face, peals of laughter drifting to you.

“That’s enough, pal,” Chris laughed. You knew he could push the canine off of him, but he didn’t, no matter how loud his protests were.

You stood off to the side, one hand in your pocket, the other holding the tennis ball. “What happened to working late?”

Chris sat up and signaled for you to toss the ball to him. “Last minute scene change,” he explained, tossing the ball with a grunt.

“Ah, that happen a lot?” you wondered, turning your gaze to Dodger to keep from drooling over your employer.

“There are days,” Chris answered, standing as Dodger ran circles around him, green ball in his mouth. “But they are few and far between.”

You chuckled as you watched Dodger. “Well, I’m sure he appreciates it.”

Chris threw the ball again, sending it much farther than you could have ever dreamed of throwing it. “Thank you,” he muttered, looking at you from the corner of his sparkling eyes. “For the video.”

“You had to have already been on your way since I just sent it.” You couldn’t help but laugh at Dodger as he spun around and slipped, dropping the ball as he went.

“Just around the corner, actually,” he chuckled, shaking his head at how Dodger was playing around, seemingly throwing the ball for himself.

You took a glance at the time.  “I suppose that means I get to have an early night,” you sighed. While a night soaking in the jacuzzi and finally starting that book everyone had been telling you to read sounded amazing, you let out a sigh at the fact that you’d be alone, eating a meal for one, watching the late show with Jimmy Fallon… again.

“You alright?” Chris asked, his hand on your shoulder, concern on his brow.

You hummed in response. “I’m fine, Chris.”

Chris nodded, his eyes narrowing in the harsh sunlight. “You have plans tonight?”

“No,” you sighed, doing your best to ignore the way the his eyelashes were casting shadows on his face. “Not unless you include ordering in from the Thai place down the block and watching reruns of Friends as plans.”

“It’s so nice out,” he noted, his eyes closed, face upturned. “I was going to grill up some steaks. You could come over and join me. You know… if you want.”

You couldn’t stop the smile as it pulled at your lips. “I’d like that. Do you want me to bring anything?”

Chris was smiling and shuffling his feet. “I got the food, you bring some drinks?”

“I think I can handle that.”

* * *

Dodger’s excited bark alerted Chris to your arrival. He opened the door with a dopey smile on his lips and it made the breath catch in your lungs. He was wearing a pair of dark sweats and a white shirt that looked entirely too small for his wide frame. You were used to seeing him in costume, on set of the movie, wearing red, white, and blue, but this… he was relaxed and wearing a genuine smile. You weren’t sure you could handle it.

“I hope this is okay,” you smiled, hoping he didn’t notice the heat in your voice as you showed him the beer.

“Better than okay,” Chris said, his normally subdued accent coming out thick.

You closed the door behind you and dropped down to give Dodger the attention he was demanding after Chris took the proffered beer. “You being a good boy for your daddy?” you asked happily. Dodger jumped up and licked your face, his tail wagging furiously.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you muttered, standing and following Chris into the kitchen where the smell of steaks and potatoes on the grill welcomed you. “Jesus, that smells amazing.”

Chris laughed, a beer in each hand that he set into the freezer. “I’ve been called many things, Y/N,” he chuckled, “but Jesus isn’t one of them.”

“I find that hard to believe.” The words were out of your mouth before you could stop them. You slapped a hand over your mouth and watched with wide eyes as Chris  _really_  laughed, his hand over his left pec, his head thrown back, a rich and bellowing tone falling from his mouth.

“I… I didn’t… mean to -” you sputtered, embarrassment flooding through you.

Chris was in front of you, a hand on your shoulder. “Hey, we’ve all said things we didn’t mean to,” he assured you. “I’m gonna check on the food. Make yourself at home.”

You couldn’t help the way your eyes clung to his frame as he clapped a hand against his thigh, signaling for Dodger to accompany him outside. He was whistling to himself as he worked, flipping the steaks once, rotating the packets of aluminum foil that were filled with potatoes, butter, and onions, and the urge to walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his waist, and rest your cheek against his back was getting too strong to ignore.

Rather than embarrass yourself further, you decided to make yourself useful and set the table. Two plates, steak knives, and forks were easily located, and placed carefully onto the table. You rummaged in the fridge for steak sauce, but came up empty handed.

“I find that a good steak doesn’t need sauce,” Chris announced, making you jump.

“Jesus,” you muttered under your breath, your hand over your hammering heart.

Chris was chuckling as he rounded the island, sliding a tray full of food onto the top. “You keep calling me that and I’m gonna get a complex.”

You scraped a hand over your face before pulling out the beer bottles from the fridge. You opened yours and quickly drained it. Maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to this, having dinner with the man you dreamt about nightly, the man whose face was your cellphone wallpaper, the man who was watching you with dark eyes.

“Sorry,” you shrugged. “I’m just… a bit on edge.”

“We all have those days,” Chris said, tipping his bottle back.

God, even drinking beer he was hypnotic, the way his throat worked, the small moan of appreciation as the cool liquid slipped down his throat, it gave you all kinds of dirty thoughts. You licked your lips and tugged your bottom lip between your teeth.

“If I keep this up, I’m going to get drunk,” you admitted, pulling another duo of bottles from the fridge.

Chris gave a half-hearted shrug. “You’re welcome to stay here tonight if that happens,” he offered, his feet shuffling around.

You were shaking your head. “I can’t put you out like that.”

“It’s not an inconvenience, Y/N,” he admitted, his tone a bit breathy, and it pulled goosebumps to the nape of your neck.

“Well,” you huffed, popping open the bottle, “let’s see how dinner goes.”

Dinner was amazing, no lie. Chris was right when he said a good steak doesn’t need sauce, because damn, the man knew how to make a mouth-watering steak. It was seasoned and cooked to perfection, and the vegetables all but melted in your mouth. To your relief, conversation flowed easy between the two of you, varying from childhood stories to dream jobs, which Chris was currently talking about.

“Seeing those kids smile, makes my day,” he hummed in contentment.

You were seated outside, watching Dodger roam around, drinking more beer, watching the sun as it dripped below the horizon.

“I bet they had a blast,” you noted, remembering the pictures of both Evans and Pratt as they made their rounds in the children’s ward, dressed in their costumes.

Chris was looking at you when he said, “You should come with us, see for yourself.”

“I’d like that.” And you would, but really, you were just a dog watcher to the stars, you weren’t anyone’s someone special.

You didn’t want to dwell on it, so you drained your drink and grabbed the ball that Dodger had been ignoring. You gave a sharp whistle as you stood and threw it, laughing loudly as he tore off, sending blades of grass through the air. You took off after him, making him think you were going after the ball. Playing with Dodger was a much needed distraction, because if you sat there, staring into Chris’ stormy eyes, you might have lunged over and kissed him.

It was dark when Chris was calling for you, your illuminated phone in his hand. The sight of it made your stomach lurch.  _Shitshitshit._  You literally ran over to him and snatched it from his grip.

“Whoa, Y/N,” he chuckled. “It started ringing, that’s all.”

You could tell by the pink that colored his cheeks that he had seen the picture of him that acted as your wallpaper. And you were prepared to defend yourself, admit that you were a huge fan and that you found him insanely sexy, but the reason your phone had been ringing grabbed your attention. It was a series of texts from Bobby, and the last one made you groan and start excusing yourself.

“I… I need to…” tears of embarrassment pricked your eyes and every inch of you flushed. “The text. You saw it?”

Chris cleared his throat before saying that, “Yeah. It’s a bit hard to miss.”

_Tell him you love him._

_Did you kiss him yet?_

_Don’t forget to wear a condom!_

God, you wanted to strangle Bobby. “I’m sorry. I just… I don’t know what…” you sighed heavily. “I’ll let myself out.”

“Please don’t leave, Y/N,” Chris murmured, his hand wrapping around your elbow as you tried brushing past. “Stay.”

Nothing about tonight had gone according to whatever lame ass plan you had tried to concoct, so why was Chris asking you to stay? Because that’s what he would be doing if he liked you, really liked you.

You looked up at him, knowing that he could see how you felt just by staring into your eyes. “Is that want you really want?”

Chris tugged his phone from his pocket and swiped his finger across the screen before showing it to you. It was a picture of Dodger, he was sitting in the grass, the sun shining bright, and you were there next to him, your fingers in his fur. You remembered everything about that day, but that was a day Chris was on set, or so you had thought.

He shrugged as he tucked it back into his pocket. “I know I want you, I have since the minute I met you,” Chris breathed before ducking down and kissing you sweetly.


End file.
